We LIVED on Sutton beach. There were days where I knew the coarse sand and cool water much better than I did my own home.
Windshield wipers raced left and right as rain battered his old Honda Civic. It was a cold and rainy day as Pete drove from Georgia to New York.
**A brief note from the writer:** My beginnings as a writer came from a strong sense of fondness towards all things fiction. This being said, I will still, from time to time, write short stories. Short stories will not come with any type of regularity or warning. I will just post them whenever I feel I have one worth sharing. "Window Seat," the one you're about to read, was one of my very early short stories. I wrote it years ago and have somewhat of a nostalgic attachment to it. Enjoy.